Thursday, June 18, 2009


By: Jennifer Derrick

Overturning the rock
I find an ants' nest.
A city of burrows lies before me,
each tiny tunnel an exquisite excavation.

How quickly the worker ants move larvae
to the deep safety of those tunnels,
pushing the rice-like bodies ahead of them.

I am tempted to stop weeding,
let the quack grass and thistle
keep choking the bleeding heart,
let the ants have their dark solace.

Then, with a quick sweep of my hand
I tear the grass out
the tunnels cave in
and like the survivors everywhere,
they scramble to rebuild.

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